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I wasn't always daddy's little girl. My parents divorced when I was 13. It was the best thing for both of them and I realized that shortly after their decision. The fighting at home subsided. There were no more angry glances and no more loud arguments. And nobody in the world was better than my mother at the time

Dad worked hard and played even harder. I remember Tuesdays and Saturdays the first year after the divorce were our days together. In the winter, we saw him on Saturdays mostly. But during the summer, both days were spent with him at the river camp. Dad dank beer with his camp friends and we played with their kids. My sister and I had a great time until the day ended and we knew it was time to go home.

That first year was okay. We got to spend time with dad and that was more important to me than anything else. Our time together soon ended as dad's drinking got worse and he started missing our days together. More and more excuses were given until we didn't see each other at all except for holidays. Dad was the type of person if you wanted to talk with him, you had to call him because he wasn't going to call you. That's just the way he was. And now you know why Mom became the favorite.

Time went on and we grew into adults with our own homes and jobs. My sister never really forgave him totally for the lost years together with her father. She moved away to another city and rarely ever saw or talked with dad. Dad finally found what he needed to quit drinking and straighten himself out. He married his high school sweetheart Cissy when I was 16. She was a wonderful woman and I loved her like my own mom.
Things started to improve between dad and me a few years later. A lot of that had to do with Cissy insisting that he become a better father. I saw them more often and spoke on the phone all the time. Dad was happy and full of life. He was the best I had ever seen him.

They were married for 10 years. My relationship with dad was great. I was daddy's little girl again. I had the dad that I always wanted. He was responsible and caring and loved his wife and children and his life. You might say he had quite a comeback.

Cissy died of a sudden heart attack one February morning. My dad found her in the bathroom at 2:00am. My phone rang minutes later and he choked out the words to me that Cissy was dead. I rushed across the river to his side. The ambulance had just loaded her body and I embraced my dad in tears. We cried together until the sun came up.
I took over the

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